The End of the Age
by Eugenides1
Summary: It's 3021, and Gandalf and the Bagginses are sailing into the West. These are the farewells that their friends bid them. As someone very kindly pointed out, this story is a bit of an AU.


Disclaimer: Yes, I'm sure you're all completely shocked to discover that I am not in fact, J.R.R. Tolkien. It even surprises me, sometimes. (  
  
Notes: This is based on the "In September of the year 3021 of the Third Age, the Ringbearers and Gandalf sailed into the West" part of Tolkien's story. (I'm pretty certain that's not a direct quote.) Gandalf, Bilbo, and Frodo are headed to Valinor (which would be the whole 'West' bit), and their friends are gathered to say good-bye. And in case it leaves you wondering, Merry and Pippin said their good-byes back at the Shire.  
  
I'd also like to thank everyone who read and replied to my first story. I ended up grinning goofily all night. So, thank you, and I hope this piece is just as good.  
  
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The ship was setting sail. Bilbo was already aboard, making a general mess of the roping and nearly falling off of the deck when his large foot became ensnared in a coil. Gandalf glared witheringly at his old friend, gripping his staff as if to refrain from turning the aging hobbit into a less troublesome sort of creature. Perhaps a toad. Sighing, the wizard reluctantly decided to leave the elder Baggins as he was, and moved to say good-bye to a mournful Gimli. Frodo was ahead of him, sobbing into the king of Gondor's royal cloak. King Elessar had knelt down to bid the small halfling farewell, and Frodo had all but toppled the man in a fierce embrace, bursting into tears. Samwise – the most loyal friend that man or hobbit could ask for – looked positively horrified to see his master crying, but Aragorn met Sam's panicked gaze and nodded in reassurance. His long arms were wrapped around his small friend and he was gently rubbing Frodo's back to calm him down. Legolas knelt beside them – his hand resting on Frodo's shoulder to give the departing hobbit what comfort he could – but he rose nimbly to his feet as Gandalf approached.  
  
"Mithrandir," he greeted the wizard, his tone friendly but solemn. Watching three good friends leave Middle Earth was by no means a cheerful occasion. And for Legolas, Gandalf imagined, it was only a harsh reminder that his other friends would also be gone, someday coming. Eventually immortality left one all alone.  
  
Gandalf gripped the elf's shoulder with his free hand, his fingers digging into the pale skin. "Namarië, Legolas son of Thranduil," the wizard said seriously, his always twinkling eyes a little sad.  
  
The elf prince met his gaze squarely, ageless face revealing nothing. Then he gave the wizard a small smile, and touched the hand on his shoulder in farewell. "Namarië, Gandalf the White," he replied softly, his lilting voice almost drowned out by the violent sea. Gandalf could see the reflection of the waves in Legolas' eyes, but said nothing as he released the elf and stepped over to where King Elessar Telcontar of the Reunited Kingdom knelt in the sand, his legs soaked by the rising tide.  
  
He arrived in time to hear a muffled voice declare, "You'll always be Strider to me," and to hear the soft, cool chuckle that followed. "I don't want to leave you," Frodo told the ranger tearfully, and Aragorn tenderly rubbed the hobbit's cheeks with his callused thumbs.  
  
"Now, now," he said kindly, wearing the same graceful smile that Gandalf had seen so many times before, "Don't cry. You'll have Gandalf and Bilbo with you, and writing that book should keep you busy enough. Besides," the king added, reaching into his robe, "I've brought you something." He withdrew his hand to display a rather thick scroll sealed with red wax, bearing the imprint of his ring.  
  
Frodo took it cautiously, curiosity drying his eyes. "What is it?" he asked hesitantly, turning it over in his small hands as one might a precious gem.  
  
The king ducked his head modestly. "This is so that you don't have to leave me." For one brief moment Gandalf was afraid Aragorn had somehow hidden a palantir in the scroll, and found himself sighing in relief as the man continued. "My entire life up until now is in there," he explained, indicating the paper Frodo held.  
  
The hobbit's eyes went very, very wide. "This is your story," he breathed, looking at his friend in awe.  
  
"The fascinating tale of Aragorn son of Arathorn," the man affirmed dryly, then shrugged. "The most interesting things have already happened, anyway," he said, his smile faltering for an instant. "After all, how often do you get to battle for the fate of Middle Earth?"  
  
Frodo threw his arms once more around the Dúnadan, being careful of the gift, and Aragorn's reply was a firm embrace. "I'll put it in my book," the halfling promised, his voice breaking as his spoke. "Good-bye, Strider," he whispered, and closed his eyes tightly as the ranger gently kissed his brow.  
  
"Good-bye, little one," Strider replied, swallowing hard to keep his tone steady. His cheeks again wet, Frodo threw a hand over his mouth and ran into the ship. Sam stared desolately after him, before Gimli led the devastated hobbit away.  
  
His grey eyes catching sight of Gandalf, Aragorn rose heavily to his feet, waiting for the wizard to speak. "We won't meet again, Aragorn of Gondor," Gandalf stated levelly, the words harsh in his own throat. His companion looked at the ship before responding, his gaze moving from a lounging Bilbo to Gimli and Sam to Legolas, who stood enraptured by the sight of the ocean and the cry of the gulls.  
  
The king of men sighed softly. "I know," he told the wizard, staring at his friend with a quiet dignity. Gandalf said nothing, for suddenly his attention was focused on the ache in his chest. It intensified as he regarded the mortal before him, and he could not find the words he wished to say. It was Aragorn who finally spoke, his grey eyes staring past the horizon, as though he could reach Valinor simply by looking hard enough for its fertile shores. "It has been a long journey, my friend," he said evenly, his voice as clear as the cries of the birds drifting on the damp sea air, "I have been glad to travel it with you." He swallowed again, then turned his head to meet the wise eyes of one of his oldest friends. "Thank you, Gandalf," he whispered, jaw clenching shut as he emotions threatened to overwhelm him.  
  
The wizard smiled sorrowfully at the man he had known for so long; and, old hands trembling, touched his friend lightly on his shoulder, still wet with Frodo's tears. "Well met, my old friend," Mithrandir murmured softly, "Well met." Then, taking a last long look at the king of Gondor, as though to forever imprint the face into his memory, Gandalf turned and strode away. He had not known until that moment that he could cry.  
  
As he reached the deck Bilbo untied the platform and some of the men of Gondor hauled it onto the beach. With a hoarse shout, the white wizard lifted his staff to the sky, filling the sails of their ship with wind. The sea spray tasted bitter to his lips, and Frodo's sobs echoed from below. On the sand stood their dearest friends: Gimli, whose burly arms were all that restrained Sam from once more following his master past the ends of the earth. Legolas, who watched motionless as the ship sailed, the call of the sea loud in his ears. Aragorn, standing waist deep in the tide, the waves crashing against his chest as the ocean's tears ran down his face.  
  
There, at the edge of Middle Earth, two years after Gandalf's fall in the mines of Moria and Boromir's death by the great river, the Fellowship was once more broken. They had gone from nine to eight, and now only six of them would remain. As Gandalf watched them, Sam spun suddenly around, his face pressed into Gimli's beard. Legolas' eyes cleared, and he waded into the tide, stopping only when he had reached Aragorn's still figure. Using one slender arm to draw the man to him, the elf let Gondor's king drape his sodden cloak over them both, buffeting the violence of the sea. Together, they turned back to the shore. And, raising his staff against the wind, the wizard bid them all a last farewell. 


End file.
